


seraphic

by stellarmads



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Drabble, M/M, and it's not erased wow, richie is adhd bc canon, stan catches himself being sappy, stan is ocd bc canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarmads/pseuds/stellarmads
Summary: seraphic (adj): characteristics of or resembling an angel





	seraphic

**Author's Note:**

> this was a secret santa gift! i had a lot of fun writing it, as stozier is my main ship, and ahhhh i hope the recipient likes it!

Stan collects words. Picked out of conversations, carefully jotted down for later. Clippings from newspapers, carefully glued in alongside definitions. He delights in his Word of the Day calendar, his last birthday gift. 

His new favorite slips off his tongue, and he finds himself whispering it throughout the day, a soothing tic. Books in the wrong order, slippery thoughts of failure slip into his mind. A hushed whisper, a mantra, steadies him, rights his vision. 

He collected this word months ago, on a date with Richie. They had decided on a date to the local community garden, as Richie had taken up a new interest in growing their own herbs. As with any of Richie’s hyperfixations, Stan had expected the interest to fade with time, but he had stayed solid. They now had thyme, rosemary, and lavender on their apartment balcony, all thriving. 

He had collected this word watching his boyfriend lean down to ramble to a basil plant, carefully brushing a leaf, scenting the sweet smell, curls falling in front of his face. His suntanned skin and freckles against the black dirt left Stan with a feeling of belonging, of sense. A strange calm, the calm he rarely felt. The calm he got when Richie curled their fingers together in bed, and pressed a kiss to his temple. The rightness in hearing Richie sighs into the pillow as he pressed feathery light kisses down his spine. 

“He’s your friend?”

A voice had startled him out of his serene moment. An older woman, wrinkles and gray catching up up with her years. 

For a second, fear gathered all the muscle in his chest and squeezed tight. He managed a strangled smile. “Something like that.” 

He waited, waited to see if she would catch on, dreaded her reaction. A pensive look crossed her features, and she hummed. 

“Seraphic.” 

He blinked. “Sorry?” 

A small smile spread across her aging face. “Seraphic. Resembling an angel.” 

He looked back towards Richie, who had moved on to take a small clipping from some sage. His fingers carefully held the shears, avoiding the main stem, with a look of focus. “Seraphic.” He repeated. 

 

Now Stan finds himself watching Richie getting ready for bed. He curls his toes in the freshly washed sheets, the dry warm feeling, and closes his word journal. Richie is just out of the shower, and he has his hair wrapped up in a towel, to avoid getting the pillowcases wet. Stan hates that. 

He should look ridiculous. Bright green boxers with the words “hottie” stamped on the butt, glasses precariously balanced on the towel behind his ears. Stan’s gaze traces the inked artwork covering his arms and shoulders, catches the glint of metal in his lip. He imagines his mother rolling in her grave.

It feels right. Serene. 

“Seraphic.” He mummers. Richie turns to him, brown eyes hazy behind steamed up lenses. 

“Hm?” 

Stan shakes his head, taps his word journal, and reaches out a hand. 

“Come to bed.” 

 

As Richie goes to hang up his towel, Stan closes his eyes and allows his mind to suspend itself in this moment.


End file.
